


(A)biding his time

by orphan_account



Series: Snapshots [3]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Gen, Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzee receives some undesirable news from an unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(A)biding his time

“Sounds like my dad screwed ya over,” Simone climbed onto the kitchen countertop, swinging her legs and chewing Bazooka.

Hanzee was finishing his lunch at the kitchen table when he received the news from Dodd’s rambunctious 13-year-old daughter. He decided to keep eating and let the girl continue.

“Yeah, Rye told me dad made _sure_ you weren’t put in Grandpa’s will,” she blew a bubble as big as she could with the rather unmalleable gum and popped it extra loud to make sure she had Hanzee’s attention.

There had been a meeting regarding Otto Gerhardt’s will and testament the day before.  Although Otto was probably the last man to admit that he would die someday, he was also compelled to put his affairs in order lest something undesirable were to occur to him that would result in his death.  
[Floyd also played a considerable part in pressuring him as his wife and business partner.]   
  
Because it was assumed to be a Gerhardt family ordeal, Hanzee asked no questions about the meeting, but what he heard now meant there might have been something initially allocated to him upon Otto’s death. Something that Dodd apparently denied him.

Hanzee wiped his face with a cloth napkin and carried his plate over to the sink as Simone continued.

“Except don’t tell Rye I told you ‘cause he told me it was real secret and all.  I thought you’d be angry about it.  Are you angry?”

The force of the water from the sink cleaned off any remaining patches of sauce that might congeal with time on his plate, and Hanzee sat his glass, plate, and silverware in the sink before asking in one of the few tones he let his voice carry.

“Tell me where Rye is.”

***

The place was called Rick’s, and not much time had passed before Hanzee could tell it wasn’t a normal bar. For one, a few heads turned when he entered, inspecting his appearance and ultimately deciding Hanzee wasn’t looking for a good time.  He found Rye at the bar chatting up a couple of his new friends he’d attracted with his charming demeanor and promises of free whiskey. 

Rye was in the middle of a story when he spotted him.

“And I took the—ah, _shit_.”

Hanzee took Rye by the arm and started dragging him out, not wielding to Rye’s protests.

One man was curious enough to inquire to Rye’s sudden departure.

“Is that your boyfriend or something?”

Another man tossed in his two cents.

“Nah, doesn’t feel like a lover’s quarrel to me.”

Hanzee hauled Rye all the way to the car, opened the door, and tossed him inside.

“Hey!  I _drove_ here, ya know, in my own car. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The driver’s side of the car shut, and Hanzee gripped the steering wheel, turning the keys in the ignition and punching the built-in cigarette lighter.  Rye continued to run his mouth.

“How’d ya—you can’t—who toldya I was here?” in a universe of infinite questions, he decided this last question was the most necessary.

“You’re not going to come back to this place or any place like it ever again,” Hanzee told Rye, “If you do, I will know, and I will tell your father.”

This statement froze Rye to the leather seat, now half-slumped down from where he was thrown.

Without warning, Hanzee changed the topic of interrogation completely, “What did Dodd say about me in the meeting yesterday?”

Rye wasn’t sure if this was a trick question to test his loyalty or not, so he cringed and stalled, “Uhhh, I can’t say.”

As if prepared for this exact response, Hanzee pulled the cigarette lighter out, took Rye’s hand, and held the warmed coil a few inches away from his palm in warning.

“Ah!  Okay! Dad wanted to grant you part of the operation, not a big part, but a part nonetheless.  And Dodd talked him out of it!  Said he wasn’t gonna share his inheritance with anyone who wasn’t blood!  Gah, jeez,” Rye pulled his hand back and cradled it pathetically, worried about what Hanzee might do next.  However, that’s all Hanzee needed to hear.

“Go.  I’ll see you at supper.”

A couple moments passed before Rye realized this meant he could leave, and when the words clicked, he scrambled out of the car and back towards the bar. 

 _What kind of damn fool would risk his inheritance and the reputation of his family for a couple fucks_ , Hanzee sighed and clicked the cigarette lighter back into its slot, turning his thoughts off to static until he was more equipped to deal with what Dodd had said in a way that didn't involve bloodshed.

***

“You once said we were partners,” Hanzee had pulled Dodd aside after dinner that night, retreating to the porch and away from the rays of shame emanating from Rye, “Does that still hold true?”

“I don’t get what you’re sayin,” Dodd unpackaged a cigarette for his after-dinner smoke, “What do ya mean ‘are we still partners?’ Don’t get all screwy on me now.”

Dodging the question to give him more time to answer.  Classic tactic. One he'd witnessed in countless interrogations.  But he wasn’t going to repeat his question.  Closing the distance between them imperceptibly as if prompting him for the truth, Hanzee looked out over the Gerhardt property with his stern gaze until Dodd, fiddling with his cigarette, decided to answer.

“Who ya been talking to?  Who’s been putting lies in your head?”

More evasive, defensive questions to buy him time, to try and make Hanzee believe he wouldn’t actually sail him up shit creek without a paddle…

“No one.” 

Dodd gritted his teeth, _really_ looking at Hanzee for any sign of mutiny, but Hanzee’s posture and demeanor betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“We’re partners, alright?”  He held his cigarette in his left hand while offering Hanzee his open palm to grasp, “Nothing else to discuss.”

The two shook hands, and Hanzee departed. He knew everything he needed in that short exchange: That Dodd cared only for himself.  That Dodd would never admit to screwing him over. And that as far as Dodd was concerned, they were not equals.  

This shouldn't have been news.  He knew what people called him behind his back (and to his face). Maybe he thought the family's eldest would've offered him even a modicum of respect, considering he took lives for a living.  

No, Dodd could not and would not ever be leader, especially with Hanzee responsible for his wellbeing. 


End file.
